


Apples to Apples

by LittleSixx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Snow White Fusion, Awkwardness, Don't copy to another site, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Multi, Non-Consensual Kissing, Poison Apples, Snow White Elements, True Love, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: During eighth year, Draco Malfoy falls prey to a sleeping curse and only true love's kiss can wake him. There is only one problem: no one likes him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on a Facebook post requesting a Dramionapple triad.
> 
> TW: non-consensual kissing  
> TW: coarse language

Lunch was the worst.

Only ten students from their class returned for what they christened “eighth year.” They studied alongside the seventh-years, trying to obtain their N.E.W.T.s. Padma came back with intent to start her own business after graduation. Hannah Abbot wanted to take her mother’s place on the Wizengamot and Longbottom came back to study Herbology. Kevin Entwhistle, Finch-Fletchley, and Roger Davies never amounted to much decent conversation. Michael Corner needed his N.E.W.T.s to attend law school. And Granger wanted … Well, if there was one thing Draco understood about the world it was that he knew nothing about Hermione Granger.

Luna Lovegood was his only friend. No other Slytherin from their year returned, and why should they? Many of their parents were preparing for trial, and even more were dead. Hogwarts was the last place most of them wanted to be, but it was a welcome respite for Draco. Malfoy Manor was constantly abuzz with preparations for his trial and he was desperate to think about literally anything else.

Luna sat across from him every day at dinner, but she had Herbology while Draco was at lunch. Eighth-years had the end of the Hufflepuff table closest to the faculty, but only one student shared Draco’s time for lunch. He avoided Granger at first, stuffing his face with muffins then leaving. Until one afternoon when a green apple had been tossed onto a tray of fruit.

Draco could never resist a green apple.

He plucked it from the tray and plopped onto the bench. Not bothering to wipe it on his robes, he bit into it and groaned at the taste. Perfectly sweet and a little tart, he wiped away some juice escaping the corner of his mouth.

“Would you two like some privacy?” Granger quipped, not looking up from her book.

“You jealous, Granger?” Draco prodded. “I am getting closer to a shag with this apple than you are with Weasel-bee. Not that I mind his absence.”

“Neither do I,” she said with a shrug. Draco took another bite of his apple and she finally looked up.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why do you care?” she countered.

“I don’t.”

And he didn’t, not really. He stayed long enough to finish his apple, but Granger pretended he wasn’t there. That was fine, she was sort of admirable when she wasn’t insulting him. Returning to the place where she lost her best friend was nothing to sneeze at. Granted, Potter somehow survived, but still … Admirable. Draco was at Hogwarts to run away from his demons, but Granger had returned to face hers.

**.oOo.**

There was a green apple at the end of the Hufflepuff table the following afternoon. Draco plopped onto the bench once again to watch Granger write something toward the end of a roll of parchment.

“Arithmancy equation?” he guessed. Granger nodded so he was silent until she finished. Arithmancy was his worst N.E.W.T. subject. There were only three of them in the class: himself, Granger, and Bastien Queensbury. Granger’s nose was practically against the parchment and when she finally looked up Draco was surprised there wasn’t any ink on the tip.

“Why are you taking Arithmancy?” she asked.

“I like learning things,” he answered.

Granger narrowed her eyes and pointed out, “You said you would rather have a conversation with a baby Mandrake than step foot in another Herbology lesson.”

“I like learning important things,” Draco countered. “And what did you say about Divination? ‘Guesswork decorated with glass balls of deception,’ wasn’t it?” Granger’s face went an angry purple colour and Draco chuckled.

“Just keep tongue-shagging your apple and leave me to my equations,” Granger insisted. Draco would have, but she had that look on her face he had come to realize meant she would explode if he said the right words.

“I still think you are jealous,” he teased, taking a large bite out of the apple. Granger’s cheeks flushed and Draco’s stomach did a little flip.

“Jealous of everyone who decided not to return to hear your incessant chewing,” she said. Draco grinned mid-chew and she rolled her eyes. “You never really answered my question.

Draco swallowed then admitted, “Arithmancy is static. Weights and variables, they all lead to an outcome based on numbers. Those are things I understand. I do not need to know what the hell a Hippogriff eats for breakfast or the five uses of a Puffapod. I can read about History of Magic in the manor library. I love Potions, I understand Arithmancy, and we have enough experience with the Dark Arts to make it the easiest class in all of Hogwarts.”

“Foxes.”

“Sorry?”

“Hippogriffs, they, um, they eat foxes for breakfast,” Granger revealed.

“With a side of human flesh, I’m sure,” he teased.

**.oOo.**

Lunch was like that for the next two weeks. October turned into November and Granger slowly became easier to talk to. Draco told himself he was only there for the apples. They were delicious, of course, but he would stay for thirty minutes after he finished just to speak with Hermione. The first time he called her by her name she toppled over the ink jar. She hadn’t called him ‘Draco’ yet, but a few weeks more and he felt like she might go for it.

One Wednesday in November she asked, “Are you worried?”

“About what?”

“The weather,” she deadpanned. Two could play that game.

“Absolutely,” Draco replied. “It will begin to snow soon and hats are murder on my hair, you know—”

“I meant are you worried about your trial,” she amended.

“Not that it is any business of yours, but I am in a place I would label something along the lines of ‘absolutely fucking terrified,’” he admitted. “I did nothing wrong, but …”

“You did nothing wrong?!” Hermione asked, laughing aloud.

“Alright, I never killed anyone!” Draco shouted back. “D’you think I like the way everyone here looks at me? Stares at the sleeve of my jumper hoping to catch a glimpse of the Dark Mark? I did what I had to do to survive, Granger. I did what was best for my family, just as anyone would.”

She did not say anything for the rest of lunch. Neither did Draco. It was at least ten minutes before he remembered he could leave. Five more passed before he convinced his feet to move.

Hermione sat next to Draco at dinner. That spot was usually left empty, but they sat there, elbows to elbows. She awkwardly cleared her throat and Draco pretended he didn’t hear. She bumped his shoulder and he kept his eyes trained firmly on the plate of potatoes in front of him.

“Malfoy!” she whispered.

“Lots of Nargles!” came a shout from across the table. Both Hermione and Draco looked at Luna, still wearing her glasses. Draco smiled at her; she was always good for a laugh at the end of the day. She knew just the strangest yet right things to say. Her hair was pulled back and she was wearing a ridiculous purple jumper patterned with tiny radishes. He envied her sometimes for being so unapologetic about who she was and what she believed. Hell, Draco wasn’t sure what he believed anymore.

“Nargles again?” Hermione asked.

“They’re getting caught in your hair,” Luna said, nodding. Draco stifled a laugh at the back of his throat and got an elbow to the ribs for his trouble. “Are you angry at someone?”

“No, Luna,” Hermione said with a sigh.

“Oh, confused, then?” Luna offered.

Hermione turned to look at Draco once again and said, “Yes. Definitely confused.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione always sat across from him at lunch and next to him at dinner. They fell into a comfortable pattern where Draco would ask Hermione to translate runes and she would ask for his advice on their latest assignment in Potions. If he didn’t know better, Draco would say they were friends.

Then she took his apple.

He arrived in the Great Hall in the middle of November to see Hermione already munching on the green apple from the tray. Headmistress McGonagall was subtly watching them with an amused smile. Draco slammed his books onto the table and Hermione glanced up.

“Afternoon, Malfoy.”

“You ate my apple!” he said through gritted teeth. Hermione looked at the core in her hand then locked eyes with Draco.

“I wanted to taste what all the fuss was about, and I understand. These things are delicious!”

“Yes, they are,” Draco agreed. He plopped unceremoniously onto the bench and scanned the available food. He grabbed a sandwich and looked down at it disdainfully. “I feel like I am being unfaithful.”

“To whom, the apple tree?” Hermione teased. Draco shrugged as she tossed the core onto her plate.

“To my routine. So much of life over the past few years has been an unpredictable hell and I like having little things that are the same every day.”

“Oh,” she muttered, chastened. “I thought … Well, I thought you were only here for the apple and if I ate it you would take your muffins and leave like you used to.”

“You want me to leave?” Draco asked. He ignored the shot of disappointment that sent through his chest. He chuckled darkly to himself. How stupid had he been? Attempting a friendship with Hermione bloody Granger was doomed to fail from the start.

“No …” Hermione said. “I wanted to see if you would stay anyway.”

Draco smiled down at his sandwich.

“Yes, Granger, I will stay.”

**.oOo.**

It quickly became a game of who could get to lunch quickly enough to grab the green apple. Draco won most days. He would over-exaggerate his delighted moans after the first bite, and it always got that small blush to appear on Hermione’s cheeks. She won twice and Draco vowed to never let her win again. Merlin on high, the way her lips looked on that apple … She had nice, puffy lips that looked rather soft … How had he not noticed before?

“Malfoy, you’re staring at me,” she said. That train of thought quickly left the station. He told himself Granger was much more likable when she wasn’t talking. Another lie to make this easier. He needed a friend, after all, and options were limited.

“Sorry, just, you know … Me and apples.”

“I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it,” Hermione admitted. “Why apples? I’ve seen you toss out entire sandwiches for having too much lettuce, but you’ll eat a bruised apple.”

“You wouldn’t be Hermione Granger if you were not curious about something that was none of your business,” Draco quipped. He smiled a moment after when he noticed the hurt expression on Hermione’s face. Still sensitive about her intellect, then.

“I suppose that’s true,” she admitted.

“I bet you have always asked too many questions,” Draco guessed.

“Sure.” Hermione shrugged and took another bite of the apple. Draco glanced back down to his own sandwich until she was finished. “Or, at least, I’ve never understood when not to ask questions.”

“How do you mean?”

“For example, I when I was eight I overheard my teacher talking about me. She used a word I didn’t understand, so I asked my mum what ‘fucking’ meant.”

Draco stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep his laughter from spilling out. His shoulders shook with the force of it and Hermione gave him a shy smile.

“Did she have a fit?” he asked, once his breathing had returned to normal.

“Well, my mum told me not to use the word again. Then she went to the school and the next week our class had a new teacher.”

“Mums can be scary that way,” Draco agreed. Hermione nodded.

“Alright, now tell me an embarrassing story about you,” she insisted.

Draco narrowed his eyes and said, “You watched me get turned into a ferret.”

“And you made my teeth so long they reached my knees!” Hermione countered.

“Point taken,” he conceded. “Right, well, when I was six I saw one of our house-elves going outside in the snow, so I gave him a hat. Father had a bloody fit.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open a bit. Draco took advantage of her oblivious moment and reached across the table to pluck the half-finished apple from her hand. She didn’t seem to mind, so he finished it before she found her voice.

“You do have it in you,” she said, astonished.

“The apple?” Draco asked, confused. He tossed the core onto his plate and said, “Yes, and it was delicious.”

“Kindness,” Hermione said. “Somewhere deep in your black soul, Malfoy, there is sympathy. You can care about other people.”

“Maybe when I was six, but they burnt it out of me,” Draco insisted. He did not like where this conversation was heading, so he took a bite of his sandwich and hoped Granger would take the hint. She didn’t.

“Who?” she asked. When Draco didn’t respond for several seconds, she repeated herself. “Who burned it out of you?” Draco huffed and tossed his sandwich back onto the plate.

“My father, the Dark Lord, the Wizengamot?! I dunno, Granger, take your bloody pick.” He looked down at his plate. “Suddenly, I’m not all that hungry.”

“Malfoy!” Granger said as he stood to leave. He ignored her so she said, “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just … You surprised me.”

“Do not get used to it,” he spat.

“But you are trying to be nice to me,” Granger said.

“I was,” Draco said. Then he left.

He skipped dinner.

The next afternoon he walked to the end of the table, grabbed the green apple, and looked at Hermione. Her brown eyes were wide and expectant. She had been there awhile, Arithmancy problems running halfway down her roll of parchment. Granger had left the apple there for him as an apology of sorts. Draco took one bite, turned on his heel, and left.

However, he could not skip dinner again. His stomach growled during class and Professor Sinstra dropped some biscuits onto his desk. He ate them as silently as he could; the numbers on the board swirled into pictures he couldn’t understand. Arithmancy was far worse on an empty stomach.

Draco arrived late to the Great Hall that evening, assuming he would have to spend less time ignoring Hermione. Of course, it meant that when he arrived there was only one seat available and it was his usual seat next to Granger. He sighed and his father’s voice rang through his head.

_The Mudblood has always been one step ahead of you._

Hermione said nothing when he sat next to her, and that was just unfair. He was upset with her so she should be the one to make the effort to change that … Right? But she didn’t. Draco spent the entire meal acutely aware of everything. His heart jumped every time their knees knocked together beneath the table and stopped altogether when she finally asked how far he was on their Arithmancy homework.

“Finished,” he said brusquely. She mumbled something he didn’t bother listening to. Then he felt bad for not listening. Granger turned to him and whispered,

“Look, Malfoy, I’m sorry I offended you but given everything you have ever said to me … Can you blame me for being surprised you would want to be my friend?”

Draco’s hands tightened around his cutlery. He stared at the potatoes on his plate and his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to be more than her friend. Draco liked her. He had a crush on Hermione Granger. He dropped the cutlery and his hand shook as he reached for his water goblet.

“I know you have limited options in our year, but—”

“It’s not that,” Draco said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “This may come as a surprise but I do not actually hate you.”

“I know that now,” she replied.

“Well when I said I had done something nice once you looked at me like I killed your cat. It just became very apparent that you think of me the way everyone else does. I just hoped you were willing to give me a chance to prove I’m not … To prove I’m not a terrible person. Anymore, at least.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?”

“I will give you a chance to prove you’re not a terrible person.”

Draco smiled sadly. At the end of the day, he wasn’t sure how to do that.

**.oOo.**

December came and they started walking to Arithmancy together. Then a week passed and they walked to dinner together. The next day they walked to Defense Against the Dark Arts together. By the ninth they spent nearly all their time at each others’ side.

In the library, they spread out their Arithmancy textbooks on one of the giant tables and went to work. They shared an ink jar in the middle of the table, checking each problem to ensure they came to the same answer. If one of them was wrong it was usually Draco. But he did correct her once and it took Hermione five minutes to admit he was right.

The green apples kept appearing at lunch. One day, Draco and Hermione reached for the apple at the same time so their fingers touched for the briefest moment. They looked up at each other and felt the Hufflepuffs staring at them. Something shot up Draco’s arm at her touch, like a Reviving Spell gone wrong. Hermione and Draco pulled their hands back like they burned.

The apple went uneaten.

One Saturday, they took a walk along the lake. Hermione was bundled up in a black coat and Gryffindor scarf but still shivered a bit. Draco briefly wondered how she could get so cold with that much hair, hell, her beanie was barely large enough to cover it all. He had to admit, it was a frigid cold. Their breath came out in tiny white puffs, crystalizing before their eyes.

“How is Potter?” Draco asked.

“He is coping as well as he can, I suppose,” Hermione admitted. “Ron visits him every week, but the press is still gouging him for a story he doesn’t want to tell. He and Ginny broke up, so that’s taking a toll, too. I worry about him, but he’ll get through it once everything calms down. He needs some time to himself.”

“I thought he might be a bit mad,” Draco admitted.

“Why’s that?”

“My mother sendt word that Potter has agreed to testify on my behalf before the Wizengamot,” Draco said. Hermione stopped dead.

“What?!”

“He wishes to testify at my trial,” Draco repeated.

“I heard you, I just can’t believe it!” Hermione said. She smiled. “Merlin on high, I was so worried they would convict you, but if Harry testifies—”

“You were worried about me?” Draco said with a teasing smile. He took a step closer to Hermione and the red of her cheeks deepened.

“Of course I was worried! You are the best Arithmancy study partner I’ve ever had.”

“I am the only Arithmancy study partner you have ever had,” Draco countered. He smiled even wider. “Admit it, Granger, you like me.”

She started walking past him and brushed his shoulder with her own, pointedly ignoring him. Draco grabbed her hand and gently tugged her around to face him again. Hermione jerked her arm from his grasp but didn’t walk away.

“I don’t,” she insisted.

“Liar.”

“I don’t dislike you,” Hermione amended. Draco laughed and leaned forward, so close that the fog of their breath blended together.

“That sounds a lot like a yes.”

“You are insufferable,” Granger said, unable to hide her own smile. “But …”

She leaned closer to him and Draco thought she was going to do it. It had to be Hermione; he would never be brave enough to snog her first. It felt right, anyway, for her to do it. He had been so awful to her over the past seven years that it needed to be her decision. Draco was impatient, so he leaned close enough so Hermione could see exactly what he wanted. She placed a gloved hand against his cheek and there were maybe five centimetres between their lips—

“HERMIONE!”

“Neville?” she asked, pulling back.

“Neville?” Draco repeated, confused and upset at Granger’s sudden departure. She ran around him and sped toward Longbottom who had appeared from nowhere with the world’s worst timing. Draco rolled his eyes and slowly trudged over to them. Hermione turned to him and glanced briefly down to his lips before saying,

“I need to help Neville with an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts. I’ll see you tomorrow and we can … Talk about …”

“Yeah,” Draco huffed. “It’s fine, go help the less fortunate. That’s what you heroes do, right?”

“Right,” she said, disappointed.

**.oOo.**

Granger wanted to kiss him.

Hermione Granger wanted to kiss him.

Draco turned that over and over in his head for the next several hours. Was it an in-the-moment decision or did she truly like him enough to snog him? Did she regret it? Of course she would, she had to. They were friends. Study partners like she said …

But he wanted to snog her so badly. It had the dual benefits of both shutting Granger the hell up and finally getting Draco’s stomach to stop doing that flip it did every time he looked at her. One of the fifth-years saw him in the corner of the common room and asked if he was doing okay.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked.

“Riley Willingham,” she answered. Draco surveyed her for a moment. He didn’t remember much about her except that she was particularly gifted in Transfiguration. She was small, barely five feet, but she had wide brown eyes like Hermione. Another person who saw too much of the world.

“Well, Riley, I’m going on trial in front of the Wizengamot in six months and chances are good I will end up in Azkaban. Everyone outside of this common room hates me, yet I have a crush on one of those very people. So no, I cannot say I am doing okay.”

“I don’t think everyone hates you, Malfoy,” she countered. “You just haven’t given them much reason to like you.”

“What reason do you have, then?” Draco asked.

“I don’t need one, I just try to see the best in people until they give me reason not to,” Riley answered.

**.oOo.**

Draco sat on Hermione’s left at dinner, but she gave most of her attention to Longbottom who was at her right. He tried not to be bitter about it. Their knees brushed against each other, but neither one of them pulled away. Luna was sputtering on about that day’s Herbology lesson and Draco felt his eyes glaze over a bit.

There was a red apple on one of the trays. That was strange, since the apples on the Hufflepuff table were only ever green. He thought about ignoring it, but Draco could never resist a good-looking apple. He rubbed it off on the sleeve of his robes and returned his attention to Luna’s prattling.

“We started prodding the Snarfalump tentacle …”

Draco took a massive bite out of the apple. It was so delicious he took another bite before he finished chewing. He swallowed but found he couldn’t bring himself to take another bite.

“Neville lost blood circulation in his hand …”

The sides of Draco’s vision darkened like he was looking at the world through a telescope. He shook his head to clear it away but suddenly found the weight very heavy.

“Professor Sprout cut it off …”

He put the apple on the table and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“The tentacle, not his hand …”

Then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione blamed it all on the apples.

Draco ignored her at lunch the entire month of September. He would walk up, take three muffins, and leave. Which was fine because she would rather eat lunch alone than with Draco Malfoy. Or, she believed as much until that green apple showed up.

For all his flaws, and there were too many to count, Draco Malfoy could be absolutely hilarious. The little things about him were most endearing. The way he would bolt down the hall to catch an escaped chocolate frog or how willing he was to make fun of his own hair. Hermione admired how he could tell the same joke to eight different people and make it just as funny to the eighth as it was to the first. Little things she never bothered to notice when he was being a right foul bastard the past seven years.

Once those apples showed up, Draco never left the table. Hermione didn’t want to talk to him at first, but she felt him staring. Every time she looked up the hatred she expected to see on his face was not there. Annoyance, perhaps, but something about him was different so she gave him a chance.

Just one chance, and Draco stayed. Hermione took the apple before he arrived at lunch and he should have been upset. It was always there for him and she ate it so he couldn’t. Hermione expected him to leave, to yell at her, to hex her, even. But he sat down and they talked like they were friends.

Hermione couldn’t pinpoint when they became friends, exactly. Weeks passed and she started sitting next to him at dinner. Without Ron or Harry around, she didn’t have many friends. There were a lot of people asking her for homework help and even more asking for an autograph, but while things were different from first year the sense of loneliness was eerily similar. Draco was going through the same thing and it was nice to have someone to be lonely with.

Neither could Hermione pinpoint when she fell for him. He was always flirtatious, so she never knew what was real and what was not. Any time she touched him, her skin tingled a bit with nerves. There was never that jolt of electricity she heard people talking about with a crush, it was just something that left her wanting more.

Hermione also liked being alone with Draco because only then did she see a hundred percent of who he was. It was difficult to pry out an honest answer when there were others within earshot. Alone, however, he wasn’t afraid to speak about his life. When she pointed that out, he said,

“You have seen the worst of me. What could I possibly say to make you think less of me?”

Their almost-kiss was a mess. Draco did not shy away when Hermione put her hand on his cheek. He leaned in like he was waiting for her. Hermione felt blood rush to her cheeks and her heart beat so quickly a Snitch’s wings would turn green with envy. Draco looked at her like he wanted it to happen but Hermione wasn’t so sure. How could he? What had changed? She was still Muggle-born and he was still most decidedly not.

“HERMIONE!”

Neville saved the day. Hermione was ashamed at the rush of relief that went through her. She did her best to ignore Draco for a bit, focused on reworking Neville’s essay. There was no way Draco liked her the way she liked him. Hermione convinced herself she imagined the whole thing.

Then Draco’s face landed on the table.

Hermione turned and asked, “Draco, are you okay?” but he didn’t move. She laughed nervously and put her hand on his shoulder. She shook him and repeated, “Draco?” His head tilted to one side and Hermione saw that his eyes were closed and his mouth was open in a tiny “O.”

“HEADMISTRESS!” Hermione shouted. McGonagall was there immediately. There was a fuss of faculty around them, professors shouting for Madam Pomfrey. They whisked Draco off to the hospital wing, leaving Hermione in a bit of shock. He looked fine, he was breathing, and if she didn’t know better she would say Draco simply chose an improper time for a nap.

As she stood to leave, Hermione noticed Draco’s unfinished apple on the table.

**.oOo.**

Draco’s parents were brought in the next morning. Hermione would not have known except she woke early to go check on him. She practically flung herself through the doors of the hospital wing to find Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy standing over their son’s unconscious body. Her feet turned to lead once everyone’s gaze moved to her, almost in slow motion.

They were so put-together and Hermione wondered if Draco had gotten his parents’ uncanny ability to pretend everything was okay. Despite their outward appearance, Hermione knew what was happening at Malfoy Manor: the constant strategizing, debating a plea bargain, and the occasional well-placed bribe. None of that was evident in the way the Malfoys held themselves; not a single hair was out of place on either one of them. Narcissa’s pale blue robes were fit for a queen and she looked the part. Lucius had dark circles beneath his eyes and his grip on his wife’s shoulder was just on the wrong side of too-tight, but those were the only indications everything was not as it seemed.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he spat.

Narcissa placed a hand overtop her husband’s and said, “Calm yourself, Lucius. Miss Granger was sitting next to Draco when he was poisoned.”

“Did you do it?” he asked. Hermione was reminded where Draco got his trademark sneer.

“Lucius, we discussed this,” Narcissa said, upset at having to repeat herself. “If Miss Granger wanted Draco dead, he would be dead.”

“I would never …” Hermione said. She trailed off, glancing down at Draco’s sleeping form. “Poisoned?”

“The apple Draco ate is from a rare Moonseed tree,” Madam Pomfrey revealed. Hermione racked her brain for any reference to Moonseed’s effects but came up short.

“Moonseed is a flower,” she insisted.

“Some Moonseed trees are known to bear fruit just like a typical apple tree,” Madam Pomfrey countered. “Apparently Hogwarts has sourced its apples from one of these trees, and—”

“And Draco can never resist an apple,” Hermione finished. “What is wrong with him, then? How do we fix it?”

“True love’s kiss,” Madam Pomfrey explained. Hermione laughed aloud and all three of them looked at her like she had gone a bit mad.

“True love’s kiss?” Hermione repeated. “Like in a fairytale? No, there has to be another way.”

“There is not,” Madam Pomfrey insisted.

“There has to be!” Hermione shouted.

“What does it matter to you, Miss Granger?” Narcissa asked. One look at her and Hermione could tell that she knew. God, it was probably written all over her face. If only she had noticed the apple in time. If only she had studied harder, knew that Moonseed apples were dangerous, then maybe she could have done something!

“It matters because I am his …” Hermione said, but stopped once she locked eyes with Lucius Malfoy. All the hatred she hadn’t seen on Draco’s face was reflected in his father’s. Hermione looked down at the floor and said,

“Nothing. I am nothing to him.”

Then she left.

**.oOo.**

Love is a two-way street.

Hermione went straight to the library and did not leave for two days. She found each book with a reference to Moonseed and wrote down every scintilla of information that may be relevant. What she found was less than helpful. Not only did the person who kissed Draco need to love him, but he had to love them back. Unlike what she learned from _Snow White_ , a Moonseed curse was fatal within a week. It brought back someone’s best memories, convincing them not to wake up, that life was better in their mind than the outside world could ever be. Only true love’s kiss was strong enough to wake them, and even then it could be too late if the poison had spread far enough.

Not only did they have to find Draco’s true love, they had to love each other enough to overcome death itself. Draco was dead the moment his lips touched that apple.

She didn’t cry. No, Hermione reread everything and tried to logic her way out of this. Draco was too important to be killed by a piece of jealous fruit. Hermione was so involved in her reading that she didn’t notice when someone plopped into the seat next to her.

“Granger?”

She jumped a bit in her chair then turned to see Bastien Queensbury kick his feet up onto the table. He offered her a muffin and said,

“They’re his favourite.”

Hermione’s stomach growled the moment she smelled it. She grabbed the blueberry muffin from his hand and took a massive bite.

“Why are you here?” she asked, mid-chew.

“Because I’m the only person in Arithmancy now,” Bastien replied.

Hermione swallowed and asked, “Truly, Bastien, what are you doing here?”

“I want to save my friend,” he admitted. While he was a Slytherin, Bastien Queensbury was a decent person. He was clever and always up-front about his intentions, a thing very much lacking in Slytherin House. “And rumours are circling that true love’s kiss is the only way to do that.”

“For once, the rumours are correct, it seems,” Hermione admitted. She slammed her book shut and slumped in her chair. “I have no idea what to do. There is no antidote, no loophole … Malfoy is as good as dead if we can’t find the person he loves.”

“Right,” Bastien said. He looked at her with a curious expression on his face. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“No idea who he is in love with? Of course I don’t. He never mentioned anyone.”

“Right, well, for the brightest witch of our age, you are pretty dim when it comes to love, aren’t you?” Bastien teased. Hermione threw her quill at him and he laughed harder.

“I thought Draco and I were friends, but—”

“But he never really learned how to love anyone the right way,” Bastien said. “Draco shows affection in strange ways. Sharing food, spending time alone together, that sort of thing. And, if he really trusts you, he’ll ask for help on homework. Most of the time he doesn’t need it, but occasionally even the great Draco Malfoy trips himself up. So, let me know if anyone fitting that description pops up, yeah?”

Before Hermione could respond, Bastien said, “When was the last time you left the library? Have you even been to the toilets?”

“Two days, I think,” Hermione admitted. “And the library has toilets.”

“Really?”

“Yes, just past the Muggle Studies section.”

“That explains it,” Bastien said. He stood from his chair and turned to leave. He shouted over his shoulder, “Four days, Granger!”

**.oOo.**

Hermione returned to class on day five. She absorbed none of the lessons, though her attendance in Defense Against the Dark Arts really was more of a formality. On her way back to the Gryffindor common room, she overheard a conversation that incensed Hermione to her very core.

“It has to be a fifth year and up. Only they know him well enough to be his true love.”

“What if it’s too late?”

“I heard Astoria snuck into the hospital wing with Pamela Alton last night to try.”

“Dammit, I bet two Galleons on Greengrass!”

“What does that make, thirty-seven now that have tried and failed?”

“Thirty-nine.”

Hermione rounded on the group of thirteen-year-old Hufflepuffs in the middle of the corridor.

“What are you talking about?” she whisper-shouted. “Are people sneaking into the hospital wing to snog Draco?!”

“How else are we going to find out who it is?” one of them asked.

“After you tried, everyone else thought it was fair game.”

“I never kissed him,” Hermione said, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“But … Everyone heard …”

“That’s why you hid in the library for so long, because it didn’t work.”

“No! I was trying to find another antidote to Moonseed!” Hermione shouted, not bothering to lower her voice this time. “Are you telling me people believe I snogged him?”

“Someone saw you run out of the hospital wing—”

“Because his parents were there!” Hermione revealed.

“Everyone thought you kissed him and he didn’t wake up,” the youngest girl said. “Now people sneak in to try. They say his lips are chapped now.”

“Well after thirty-nine people trying to give him the snog of his life I wonder why!” Hermione spat. “Why is this about me, anyway?”

They all laughed in lieu of an answer. When they realized it was a legitimate question, the four girls’ expressions changed into various degrees of disbelief.

“You sit at our table!”

“We see the way you two look at each other.”

“Everyone sees it.”

“Do you remember that day they both reached for the apple?! I thought they were about to shag on the table!”

Hermione stormed off and set up camp in the hospital wing next to Draco’s bed. Madam Pomfrey agreed to stay during dinner and Hermione returned to take the night shift. She caught three students trying to sneak in. When they saw her, she lifted her wand and said,

“Get the hell out before I turn you into spoons.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione cornered Luna outside the Ravenclaw common room on day number six.

“You need to kiss Draco,” she insisted.

Luna chuckled lightly and asked, “Why would you say such a silly thing?”

“You are his friend,” Hermione replied.

“So are you,” Luna countered. She offered Hermione a copy of that month’s _Quibbler_ , and Hermione accepted.

“But you haven’t tried yet and he is running out of time,” Hermione said. She wiped away the water building up in the corners of her eyes. Luna smiled at her, a little sad.

“I could say the same of you.”

“Draco could never love me,” Hermione admitted. “But you were kind to him, you forgave him, and maybe that is enough.”

Luna smiled and took Hermione’s hand. She led her into the common room, then up the stairs into the seventh-year girls’ dormitory. Luna walked over to her bed and pointed to a photograph on her nightstand. In it was a younger version of her father, along with a woman who looked very much like Luna. They were dancing in a garden and the woman was wearing radish earrings.

“Are those your parents?” Hermione asked. Luna nodded.

“My dad was always outspoken about love, you see, very loud. People say they could see his heart in his eyes when my mum entered a room. He says he knew he loved my mum from the moment he saw her. Some people scream when they’re in love, you know, like a Snarfalump. They will wrap you up in their tentacles and shout how amazing their lover is and not let you go until you believe them.”

“I can certainly see your father doing that,” Hermione quipped. Luna did not notice the insulting tone.

“Mum was different. She died when I was six, but what I remember is wonderful. Her love was quieter. She spoke about my dad like he was exactly what she needed in life. Like he was her balance. Her affection was silent and mostly unseen, but always there. Like Nargles.”

“Like Nargles,” Hermione repeated with a smile.

“There are different sorts of love,” Luna insisted, not taking her eyes from the photo. “Some people are loud, some are quiet, and there are so many places in between. Draco is a screamer, maybe not with his words but with his actions. Everyone knows who he loves best, probably before he realized it himself. He can be a bit slow when the answer isn’t one he wants to hear.”

“Everyone seems to think he is in love with me,” Hermione said. “But that can’t be true.”

“Maybe it isn’t what he is shouting out to the world. Perhaps you should think about what he isn’t saying. What you don’t hear anymore.”

_Mudblood._

They stood, watching Luna’s parents dance for another minute before Hermione gave her a hug.

“Never change, Luna,” she whispered.

. **oOo.**

Hermione spent that evening sobbing into her pillow.

This was too similar to losing Harry. As if seeing those black hoods in her nightmares wasn’t enough, Hogwarts just had to keep taking people away from her. She avoided the corridor where they found Lavender Brown’s body. There were still bloodstains on the walls and suits of armor that were missing arms, reminders of all the carnage lurking around every corner.

But unlike that day seven months earlier, there was one thing Hermione could do to save Draco. While her doubts ran deep, what sort of friend would she be if she didn’t try? It was day number seven and Hermione couldn’t watch another friend die. She just couldn’t.

Hermione cast a Disillusionment spell on herself. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. No one would oblige her this if she was caught. Hermione silently made her way out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and out through the portrait hole. The dark halls of Hogwarts no longer frightened her. The things seen in the light brought back memories far more terrifying than anything she could conjure up on her own. She blessedly managed to get to the hospital wing without running into anyone. Madam Pomfrey was in bed and the sun was only just beginning to peek above the horizon. Hermione trudged slowly over to the near-lifeless form.

Death was a horrible look on Draco.

Hermione hadn’t noticed how much he smiled until he couldn’t anymore. His hair hung limp in several different directions and his lips were chapped from thirty-nine kisses he didn’t ask for. He was still in his jumper from their walk the Saturday before, his face slack with a heavy pallor. Hermione took a deep breath and wiped away some escaping tears.

No matter what Luna said, no matter what anyone believed, Hermione knew Draco didn’t love her. How could he? Their friendship was too new for that. Plus, the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face confirmed what Hermione already knew: there was no room for her in Draco’s life after Hogwarts.

Hermione sat on the edge of Draco’s bed. She took a deep breath and said,

“You were right, I like you very much. If this works, I promise I will never eat your apples again. Just … come back, Draco,” Hermione said, her voice cracking on his name. “I need a friend and you’re it. Merlin on high, I really should have done this a week ago.”

She leaned forward and lightly pressed her lips against his. Hermione’s chest seized up because she knew it was wrong but couldn’t immediately pull herself away. She threaded her fingers through Draco’s hair to pull him closer, just for a moment. Hermione pulled back a few centimetres and jumped back when Draco opened his eyes.

He blinked.

He blinked again and took a large gasp of air. Draco coughed when he was unable to hold it down, loud enough to wake Madam Pomfrey, who came running out of her room. Draco sat up on his elbows, blinking wildly and asking,

“Where the bloody hell am I?”

Madam Pomfrey assured Draco he was in the hospital wing and that he was safe. He waved her off and sat upright. Draco looked directly at Hermione though she was mostly invisible. If Hermione didn’t know any better, she would have believed that Draco knew she was there and knew what she had done. She did the only thing she could think to do:

Hermione ran back to the common room as quickly as her feet would take her.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco’s throat was raw like he hadn’t breathed properly for days.

It was dark when he opened his eyes. It took Draco several seconds to recognize he was in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey assured him as much, but Draco had just spent God only knew how long questioning everything he saw in his mind. How the hell could he know whether this was not yet another dream to torture him?

Draco glanced to his left and saw someone there. Made practically invisible by a Disillusionment Charm, he couldn’t quite make out who it was. He knew who he wanted it to be, but that was just another mind game he was unprepared to play. Draco was relieved when they ran away, likely scared by the arrival of Madam Pomfrey at his bedside.

“How did this happen?” she asked. Draco’s reply got caught in his throat when he saw her expression of disbelief. He glanced toward the exit, wondering whether his phantom had done more than simply stalk his bedside.

Over the next few hours he was poked and prodded, fed revitalizing potions, and asked all sorts of questions. He chose not to mention the invisible figure at his side. Madam Pomfrey threw around words like “true love’s kiss” and “moonseed” and “brink of death.” Draco did not hear much between them. All he could say was,

“I want to go home.”

**.oOo.**

Draco didn’t feel bad about leaving without saying good-bye to his friends, he just wanted to be in his own bed.

They sent him back via Portkey so Draco arrived outside the manor like a stranger. He shivered against the cold, having left in the clothes he had been wearing for a week. He had not bothered to button his coat, just threw it on, touched the potion bottle and landed on his ass outside the gates. They swung open and Draco began the quarter-mile trek up the driveway. He looked around to see everything was the same as it had been when he left three months earlier. The grass was still green, the peacocks were still white, and the manor was still standing.

The front door swung open without Draco so much as touching it. Malfoy Manor practically pulled him in of its own accord. God, it felt good to be home. The door swung shut behind him and Draco made his way down the hall. He ignored the shouting of the portraits insulting him; they knew the moment he inherited the manor they would be torn down, Sticking Charm be damned.

He made his way up the staircase and passed his father’s study. He heard voices inside, lots of shouting that faded as he made his way down the hall. Draco turned into his bedroom and tossed his coat on the floor. He crawled onto his bed, back to the pillows, and pulled his legs up to his chest. Draco pressed his face into the space between his knees and took a deep breath.

_Home._

**.oOo.**

“Are you fucking mad?!” Draco shouted.

“I am your father and you will not curse at me!”

Draco tossed the December 28th edition of _The_ _Daily Prophet_ onto his father’s desk. The headline above the fold read, “Malfoy Considering Guilty Plea?” His whole body shook with some combination of fear and rage. His father had the gall to sit behind his desk and talk down to Draco like his entire future was nothing to worry about?!

“A PLEA BARGAIN?!”

“It is an option we are considering, nothing more.”

“Do I have any say in this at all?!” Draco shouted. “Or are you going to keep making my decisions for me the rest of my goddamn life?!”

“Again with the cursing, my son—”

“I will stop cursing when you stop trying to control me!” He added an extra, “FUCK!” to sharpen the point. Draco watched his father sigh, watched his shoulders slump, and then he got that look on his face which said _I wish you were less like your mother._

“The Wizengamot will let you off with a fine of twenty thousand Galleons if you plead guilty to the charges of attempted assassination,” his father said.

“Tell them to fuck off!” Draco insisted. He learned long ago that throwing things in Father’s office was not allowed, so he walked over to the door, opened it, then slammed it shut again. The rage inside him calmed for all of a half-second before welling up again. Draco returned to his place at his father’s desk.

“You may have forgotten Draco, but you did try to assassinate Albus Dumbledore. You are, technically, guilty.”

“I did what I had to do to protect our family!” Draco shouted. “He would have killed you then he would have set Fenrir Greyback on Mother and made me watch! Of course I would kill Dumbledore to prevent that from happening. Not to mention that I failed! I am not guilty, Father. I did what I had to do as a prisoner of war.”

“Oh, you were a prisoner of war, were you?” his father challenged. “Must have been the most well-adjusted one in the history of time seeing as you were attending school—”

“I skipped every class from March through April,” Draco countered.

“You were well-fed—”

“Hardly ate due to anxiety, nerves, the pressure of saving my entire goddamn family.”

“You were loved!”

“BY WHOM?!” Draco shouted. There it was, the crux of it all. He could hardly breathe as the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “If you loved me, Father, you would have seen what the Dark Lord would do to me. You should have known he would make me pay for your failures. While you got to stay safely put in Azkaban, I was stuck trying to keep the three of us alive. Do not delude yourself into believing your love has ever saved me from anything.”

Lucius Malfoy looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. The air left his lungs with an audible whoosh that would have been comical if Draco wasn’t absolutely fucking livid.

“I am not guilty,” he insisted. “It is not a crime to be an asshole. Everything I did was to keep us alive, never because I had any allegiance to the Dark Lord. Unlike you, Father, I sure as hell won’t go to prison for him.”

Draco turned on his heel and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

**.oOo.**

Theo came by the following day. Draco leapt up from the sofa and grabbed him in a tight hug. Thank fucking Merlin for Theo. No matter what, he was always level-headed and sanity was such a rare attribute in their circle.

“Nice to see you too, mate,” Theo teased. “Saw that nonsense in the _Prophet_. You father isn’t really going to make you plead guilty, is he?”

“No,” Draco said without dropping his hold on Theo. “Potter’s agreed to testify on my behalf. I can win.”

“That’s great,” Theo wheezed, “and I would really like to live to see it so if you could stop trying to puncture my bloody lungs—”

“Sorry,” Draco said, letting Theo go and taking a step back. Merlin on high, it was just so nice to have a friend who didn’t question him at every fucking turn. Theo sat in the chair across from Draco, only a coffee table between them. Draco fell backward onto the sofa and crossed his legs beneath him. Theo surveyed him, not saying much for several minutes. It was just as well, Theo’s value was in his presence just as much as it was in his words.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he finally said.

“Heard about that, did you?” Draco asked.

“Yesterday wasn’t the first time you made the front page of the _Prophet_ this month,” Theo answered. Draco rolled his eyes. “They used a nice picture, though. One with your hair done up all proper and shit.”

“Small comfort.” Draco chuckled darkly. “I doubt I will return to Hogwarts, though. That was … an experience.”

“What happened?” Theo asked. Draco was silent for awhile so he amended, “You don’t need to tell me. I know about the moonseed, but no one knows who woke you up.”

“I know,” Draco revealed.

“You know?!” Theo asked. Draco couldn’t fully hide his smile.

“Yes, I know,” he coyly replied. Theo rolled his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Draco, who kissed you?”

“It was Granger.”

There was a lengthy pause where Theo’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion before he burst into laughter. He inhaled deeply and said,

“Right, okay, no, really—Who was it?”

“Hermione Granger,” Draco repeated. Theo swallowed thickly and fell back into his chair.

“You mean to tell me that you are in love with Hermione Granger and she might love you back?”

“I imagine the first part of that does not surprise you,” Draco said.

“No, not really,” Theo admitted. “We all knew you liked her. She was the forbidden fruit—”

“Best not talk about fruit right now,” Draco admitted. “Still a bit of a sensitive topic.”

“Right,” Theo chuckled, “so she hated you and beat you in everything. Of course you liked her. Regardless of blood status, she could outsmart Merlin himself and she’s only nineteen. But how the hell did she fall for you?”

“Like hell if I know,” Draco answered. “We became friends, but … I dunno, Theo.”

“What was it like, then?” he asked. “Being poisoned?”

“Hell,” Draco admitted. “The best sort of hell.”

“How d’you mean?”

“The things I saw …”

“Like what?” Theo asked. Draco sighed. He supposed it would be nice to talk about it a bit. Theo would probably be more understanding than anyone else.

“Moonseed is a slow-moving poison. It takes a week to engulf the body and it projects memories of your ‘true love,’” he said with accompanying air quotes. Those were all words he memorized from Madam Pomfrey. Words he clung to.

“So you just saw a bunch of Hermione Grangers in your head?” Theo asked. Draco shook his head and sighed.

“No, and that is what I don’t understand. I did not know I was in love with Hermione. Not really, Theo. I like her. I like her a lot, she’s fucking wonderful, laughs at all my jokes—”

“Well she’d have to love you to do that,” Theo quipped. “You are not all that funny.”

“And you are not all that handsome so how the hell you landed Tracey Davis is beyond my understanding,” Draco shot back with a smile. He noticed a distinct blush on Theo’s cheeks.

“She’s great, but we are talking about how you almost died,” Theo insisted. “Let’s get back to that.”

“You are shagging, aren’t you?” Draco asked, suddenly desperate to know. That blush on Theo’s cheeks deepened and Draco’s smile widened. “I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

“I’m really happy,” Theo admitted with a shy smile. He ran a hand through his hair then motioned for Draco to continue.

“Right, well … Everything they told me was about memories, but I do not have memories of Hermione that are very good. She hadn’t even snogged me yet. We weren’t far enough along in our relationship for it to be _love_ , you know?”

“Draco, what did you see?”

“That’s just it, there were no memories. Everything I saw while the poison spread was about what could have been. If I hadn’t been an absolute cock to Hermione for seven years … How happy could we have been? We would have been friends earlier. I could have helped her in Potions, she could have helped me in Arithmancy, we could have slept through Care of Magical Creatures together …”

“The poison wasn’t about temptation for you,” Theo recognized. “It was about regret.”

“Exactly.”

“Then it all makes sense.”

“Try me,” Draco said.

“If we are to reason that regret was weighing you down, then you would only wake up for a second chance. It does not mean you have to be in love, so much as you needed the promise of love and forgiveness. Maybe forgiveness is what pulled you out of it.”

“So she’s not in love with me?” Draco asked, disappointed. He freaked out at first, but as the days passed he hadn’t minded it as much. In fact, it was almost pleasant to know he could change so much. It meant he had the ability to become more than his father was.

“She would have to love you to forgive you, wouldn’t she?” Theo asked. “At least a little.”

“Dunno,” Draco admitted.

“You could just ask her,” Theo pointed out. “Use your words. People have been known to do that from time to time.”

“I don’t think I will see her again,” Draco said. “I do not want to go back to Hogwarts. I nearly died there, and—”

“And how many times have you nearly died here?” Theo challenged.

Draco rolled his eyes and said, “I hate when you are smarter than me.”

“Then you must lead a very hateful life, Malfoy.”

**.oOo.**

He did not return on the first day of classes. Draco said it was because of his near-death experience, but Theo was right. He was afraid to face Hermione. Why the hell had she run away? Was she so ashamed to love him? If so, Draco couldn’t entirely fault her for it.

His mother brought dessert up to his bedroom. She sat on the edge of his bed and handed him a small bowl of mango sorbet. One of _those_ conversations, then. His mother could pry just about anything out of him with mango sorbet.

“I know it was the Granger girl,” she said. Draco concentrated very hard on his sorbet. He swallowed a large spoonful to avoid confirming what his mother knew. She asked, “Do you wish to speak about it?”

Draco shook his head.

“I think we should speak about it.”

“I like her.” Draco said it to his sorbet more than to his mother. He didn’t look up, terrified of the expression he would find on her face.

“May I ask why?” Narcissa asked. Draco sighed and swallowed a smaller spoonful before answering.

“Because she is brave in a way I never was,” he admitted. “She is smarter than me, tougher than me, and she somehow always finds a way to solve a problem. Even if it means kissing me, she will always solve the problem.”

“Oh, my son,” Narcissa said. She ran her fingers through Draco’s hair like she did when he was little. Draco looked up to see his mother smiling at him. He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly was not resigned delight. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I am not even sure I know what that feels like anymore,” Draco admitted. “I was terrified through the entirety of the war, and the moment it ended I began worrying about the trial. All I know is that Hermione makes me forget about those things for awhile. She talks about problems that are bigger than me.”

“Bigger than you?” his mother asked. “What do you mean?”

“Justice,” Draco answered. “Standards for the Wizengamot, things like maximum sentences for certain crimes and providing everyone with adequate representation regardless of their ability to pay for it. She has taken everything about my trial and shown me how it affects everyone else. I like that she thinks that way. I can solve my own problems but Hermione uses my experience to solve everyone else’s.”

“I believe the word you are looking for is ‘empathy,’” his mother teased. She smiled and stole a spoonful of his sorbet. “It appears Miss Granger is teaching you empathy. Forgive me for saying so, but that is not something you would have learned from your father. I could have done more as well, I suppose,” she admitted with a small shrug.

“You aren’t angry with me?” Draco asked, stunned. His mother shook her head and for a moment Draco was convinced this was just another moonseed-induced dream.

“No, my son, I am not angry. I certainly wish you had fallen for someone of Pure blood, but as I said, I only want you to be happy. If you can avoid Azkaban I will consider every moment I have with you a gift, even if there is a Muggle-born witch at your side.”

“Father would never allow it,” Draco countered.

“Your father will see reason,” his mother said. “He is easily persuaded when the proper buttons are pressed,” she teased. Draco choked on his sorbet and handed the bowl back to his mother, a disgusted look on his face. He stuck out his tongue and said,

“Gross. That is not a visual I need in my head. Oh, God, I’d rather have the moonseed.”

His mother laughed and gave him a hug before she left.

“The Portkey expires tomorrow evening,” she said over her shoulder.

**.oOo.**

Draco landed on his feet in the Slytherin common room and everyone jumped in surprise. A few people ran to hug him. Bastien Queensbury sobbed happy tears into his shoulder, previously frightened he would have to be the only person in Arithmancy with Hermione. It took him five minutes to escape and head all the way up to the Gryffindor common room.

It took him until he was standing outside the Fat Lady’s portrait to realize he didn’t know the password. No matter how much he begged, she wouldn’t let him in.

“I know Granger is in there!” he insisted. “She will leave for dinner in thirty minutes and—”

“Should I be worried you know her schedule, Malfoy?” Longbottom asked, appearing from nowhere. Always him with the rotten timing.

“Oh shut up, she is my friend, of course I know her schedule.”

“Well I will let you in,” Longbottom said. Draco grit his teeth together and turned to face him. Longbottom had a hesitant look on his face, like he knew this could backfire.

“If …?” Draco asked.

“If you say something nice about me.”

“Really?” Draco asked. “Are you so desperate for compliments?”

“No,” he laughed, “I just want to make you squirm a bit.”

“Mission accomplished, I suppose,” Draco quipped. He racked his brain for something. Some nice thing he could say about Longbottom. He was friends with Hermione, so that had to count in his favour, but he doubted that would count as a legitimate compliment. “Ah!” Draco shouted. “You are the best Herbology student I know.”

Neville raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” he admitted. Longbottom said, “Godric!” and the Fat Lady’s portrait swung open. Draco shimmied through the portrait hole and shouted over his shoulder.

“Joke’s on you, since I don’t consider that a compliment.”

The common room went silent the moment Draco’s feet touched the floor. There had to be sixty people staring as Longbottom fell out of the portrait hole behind him. Draco scanned the room for that familiar head of abnormally-bushy hair and found her in a chair by the fireplace. Draco felt all hundred and twenty eyes follow him as he walked past everyone’s little nooks to stand in front of Hermione.

“Granger.”

She jumped out of her chair and her book went flying, landing dangerously close to the fireplace. She nervously tucked some hair behind her ear and said,

“Malfoy! I … I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“Neither did I,” he revealed. “But I never got to give you your Christmas present.”

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Hermione said, nodding toward the rest of the room. “You should come upstairs; my room is empty.”

“Oh, your room?” Draco sassed. “Normally I would insist you buy me dinner first like a proper gentleman.”

“A proper gentleman?” Hermione asked. “How would you know of such a thing?”

And everything was normal. God, so blessedly normal. Hermione pulled Draco over to the stairs followed by claps and wolf-whistles. Granger levitated him up the stairs into the girls’ dormitories. Typical Gryffindors, not realizing how easy it is to skirt around simple deterrent tactics. Once his feet were back on the ground, Hermione showed him to the room furthest in the back.

“I share it with the seventh-years,” she revealed, “but they should all be out gossiping in the common room for another half hour. You said you have a present for me?”

“Friends get each other presents for Christmas, do they not?” Draco asked. Hermione nodded.

“Yes, they do. They don’t usually do it in January, but better late than not at all.”

“Then happy Christmas, Granger,” Draco said. He pulled a small box from inside his coat and offered it to her. She smiled at the small box and plucked it from his fingers.

“I didn’t think you got me anything …” she trailed off. Hermione popped the lid to reveal a single tube of lip balm. She stared at it for several seconds without saying a word. Eventually Draco asked the question that had pained him for weeks.

“Why did you run?”

“Because I was afraid of how much I wanted you to come back,” Hermione admitted. “And when you woke up it meant that I … That I …”

“That you like me more than a little,” Draco finished. “And I like you more than a little, too.”

Hermione pulled Draco down by his coat collar and kissed him. Draco wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her closer, terrified that at any moment she would realize what she was doing and push him away. But she didn’t. Hermione threaded her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. Her lips were just as soft as he imagined them to be.

She tossed the box onto her bed and pulled back to breathe. Their lips were mere centimetres apart when she said,

“I like you a lot and I might even love you a little.”

“I can’t believe you just kissed me,” Draco admitted with a small, delighted smile on his face.

Hermione licked her lips and said, “Then I suppose I should do it again.” Draco nodded and she pressed her lips against his, light as a feather. Then she trailed kisses down his jaw and neck until she met the collar of his jumper.

“Oh!” she said, pulling away. “I did get you a present.”

“Mmhmm, yes, snogging me again will be present enough,” Draco replied, a little dizzy. Hermione shook her head and rummaged through her things.

“I know I packed it … Should be … Ah ha!” Granger lifted a clear container about the size of a sandwich from her trunk. At first glance it appeared to be filled with little green pellets. Draco took it from her hands and popped off the lid. He stared down at the little ovals with a white “S” stamped on them.

“Thank you?” he asked hesitantly.

“I spent all break researching moonseed,” Hermione said. Draco wished he could say he was surprised. “It turns out, moonseed apples are rare, and the tree produces two types of apples: one dosed with moonseed poison and one without.”

“The red apples are poisonous,” Draco guessed. Hermione nodded and he held up the container. “What do I do with these, then?”

“You eat them,” Hermione replied.

“Eat them?” Draco asked, shocked. “You want me to eat these things?”

“Trust me,” Hermione insisted. “Take three, toss them in your mouth, and chew.”

Draco reluctantly obliged. He took three pellets from the container and let them rest on his tongue. Their hard coating was slick to the touch. He gently bit down on them and was surprised to find they had a fuzzy sort of centre. Then it hit his taste buds all at once: the sour taste of green apples.

“Oh my fucking Merlin these are amazing!” Draco shouted. He immediately popped three more into his mouth and Hermione took the container away. She put the lid back on and smiled.

“So you like them?”

“Like them?” he asked. “Bloody hell, you know how I feel about apples.”

“I thought you might be wary of real apples for awhile, so I brought you the next best thing,” Hermione said, blushing all the way down her neck.

“What are they?” Draco asked.

“Skittles,” she revealed, “Muggle candy.”

“Those are made by _Muggles?!_ ” Draco shouted.

“What is with the tone of surprise?” Hermione asked.

“How do I stop them from going bad? Are they safe in that container?”

“Skittles don’t really go bad,” Hermione explained. Draco narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

“How do you make apples that don’t go bad? Muggles cannot do magic.”

“Everyone can do magic, Draco. For us it’s in our blood and for Muggles it is in their mind. That means we get poisoned apples while they make everlasting ones.”

Draco kissed her again. A teeth-clacking kiss with his hands on her cheeks, on her shoulders, on any part of Hermione he could touch. She reciprocated with enthusiasm, joking that she was happy his lips were not so chapped this time. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck as Draco shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor. He felt Hermione smile against his lips just before she pulled back to say,

“Now you taste like apples.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione bought twenty packages of Skittles and picked out all the green ones. That's #truelove. I hope you found this fic to be the most ridiculous kind of adorable.


End file.
